


Republic Commandos: Prodigal

by MoonySideDown



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Build Your Own Canon, Canon Continuation, Clan Skirata - Freeform, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Jedi, Mandalore, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Culture, Post-Canon, Post-Order 66, Pre-Star Wars: A New Hope, kind of follows canon but not completely
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-25
Updated: 2019-11-30
Packaged: 2021-02-25 22:27:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21553015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonySideDown/pseuds/MoonySideDown
Summary: It’s been sixteen years since Darman Skirata last saw his family. Sixteen years since he took his son and left in the middle of the night without even saying goodbye. Now, it’s time to go home and try to rebuild the connections from so long ago. Something that may not be as easy as he hoped.The Empire, a major factor in Darman's drastic decision to kidnap his own son, still has a presence on Mandalore and it's only getting stronger. Clashes between Mando'ade and the 'Stormies' are becoming a daily occurrence. Imperial alliances with local Mandalorian businesses are strained to the limits. Death Watch is willing to do whatever it takes to rip the base out by the roots, even if that means ripping up Manda'yaim with it.Venku Skirata, better known as Kad, has grown up wandering the galaxy with his father. Compared to that life, adjusting to a so-called 'quiet' existence in the middle of nowhere on Mandalore with the family he barely remembers is an adjustment. His cousins, who he's never even met, don't like him, he manages to muck up every farm chore he's given, and he can barely tell his uncles apart. His father's home may be with Clan Skirata, but is Kad's?
Relationships: Laseema/RC-3222 | Atin Skirata, Null-11 | Ordo Skirata/Besany Wennen, Parja Bralor/RC-8015 | Fi Skirata, RC-5108/8843 | Corr Skirata/Jilka Zan Zentis
Comments: 7
Kudos: 20





	1. Prologue: From The Private Diary of Darman Skirata

It occurred to me today that I have no idea when Kad’s birthday is. I can make a pretty good guess, since I know he was a year old when I took him from Mandalore. But I don’t know the actual day.

I do know he’s seventeen today, or by today, or something like that. A grown man by _Mando_ standards, although he’s acted more grown than me since he was five. He’s been taller than me for a standard year now, and I’m not totally sure if he’s done growing yet.

Sixteen years since I stole him from the people I used to trust with my life. He should have grown up back home on Mandalore, not flying around the galaxy with his _di’kut_ of a father.

For all the terrible stuff I had to deal with as a kid, at least I had my brothers with me. Even when I lost my first squad, Taler, Vin, and Jay, I still had more brothers to...well not to take their place but to help pick me up. Fi, Niner, and Atin.

Kad’s had a better childhood than me, but he doesn’t have anyone his age, or even close to it. No brothers, no clan. Because of me. Because I was scared.

And yet here I am, still running, still dragging my boy along with me. That needs to change. That should have changed a long time ago.

I asked Kad today while we ate at some local diner on this backwater planet, how he would feel about going home. Just as I asked that question I realized that as far as he remembers, our ship is home. He has no connection to Mandalore the way I do. I considered Mandalore my home long before I ever knew _Kal’buir_ was planning to literally build us a home there.

_Kad’ika_ is amazing, but I worry sometimes I haven’t raised him _Mando_ enough. We don’t wear _beskar_ armor, because I’m honestly not entirely sure how to go about finding someone to make us some or how to buy it. And I can’t ask _Kal’buir_ for help.

Kal has been trying to get in contact since the day after we left Kyrimorut. It’s died down a bit but he still sends messages a few times a year, updating me on what’s happening with the family and asking after _Kad’ika_. I’ve never even answered. He doesn’t even know if we’re both still alive. How do I come back from that?

Kad is asleep, laying on the couch with his head on my lap. I’ve been typing with one hand instead of dictating so I don’t disturb him, and so I have one hand free to keep fidgeting with his hair.

I think he knows I’m unsettled lately. He’s hardly left my side even when we’re on our own ship in hyperspace. He can sense stuff like that, even when he doesn’t realize that’s what he’s doing. It’s just another way he takes after Her. As if having her hair color, her freckles, and her smile wasn’t enough.

He needs a haircut. It’s getting long enough that the slight waves and loose curls are becoming visible and tangling around my fingers. He doesn’t even stir when I tug at a knot and work through it with my fingers.

Maybe he’s a grown adult. Maybe not. But however old he is, I love him more than I ever would have thought possible back before I loved _Et’ika_. I need to do right by him, even if I’ve messed up for the past sixteen years. We both need to get back to our roots before we become total _aruetiise_.

He has a whole family out there and he doesn’t even remember them. Family, clan, _aliit_ , is one of the base foundations of _Mando_ life and I’ve been pretending they don’t even exist. How did I think I could raise him _Mando_ without his clan?

I’ve thought like this before and still gone back on my decision. That’s how we stayed out here for sixteen years. This time is different though because yesterday Kad saw a few _Mando’ad_ walking through town. I saw his face, and for the first time I realized how much of a mystery they must have been to him.

Maybe I’ll reread _Kal’buir’s_ last message. It arrived maybe three months ago. Maybe I’ll respond this time. See how he is. Ask if they have room for two more.

My head is spinning. I think I’ll rest for a while before making a big decision. Maybe my head will be clearer when I wake up.

I could bring Kad to his bed like I did when he was small. I could go sleep in my own bed. But this feels nice, sitting here with him like this. I’ve always felt safest in hyperspace, even when I knew we were on our way to another fight. There’s this peaceful feeling about it, like being wrapped in a blanket where nothing can reach you.

I remember when Kad was little I would watch him sleep and wonder what he could be dreaming about. That hasn’t changed either. I’ve spent sixteen years with him and so much about him is still a mystery to me. I spent my life with my brothers, and I could read every subtle change in expression or body language.

It’s time to go home. I know that now for sure, like a switch in my brain has finally flipped to the right setting for the first time in years.

But it can wait a few more minutes, or hours, while _Kad’ika_ and I get some rest. It’s a long way to Mandalore.

I only hope they want us there.


	2. Chapter One

**KELDABE, MANDALORE**

Kohpa’s boots thumped on the wooden floor of the parts shop while he followed his uncle around, holding the cloth bag open so he could occasionally add another part.

They were on their last errand of the day, picking up some machinery parts for his aunt so she could get to work on some of the farm equipment. The weather was finally starting to turn more mild after what felt like months of cold and snow.

The shop owner, a wide and intimidating man with deep silver armor, quietly stood at the counter polishing something with a dirty-looking cloth while occasionally glancing over at the pair browsing the shelves.

“Parja looking to rebuild the whole farm,  _ ner vod _ ?” He asked after a while.

Kohpa raised his eyebrows and hefted the bag a little in his hands. It was getting heavy and he was wondering himself how much more Mereel would add.

“Not the whole thing, just carefully selected bits of it.” His uncle smiled, dropping one more part in the bag before taking the whole thing out of Kohpa’s arms. He marched up to the counter and set the bag down.

The owner set down his work and strolled over to inspect the haul. “Mm, her and every other  _ vhett _ on Mandalore, it seems.”

Kohpa shook the tension out of his arms, glancing around the shop again. It seemed plenty well-stocked to him, but judging by the boxes stacked behind the counter the owner was keeping up with his restocking.

This was the busy time of year for farmers on Mandalore, when the weather was still too cold for crops but more hospitable to being outdoors. Most would be spending this time getting everything set up for the coming season, and that included his family. They weren’t business farmers, just grew and raised their own food like most others, but they sold their excess at the markets in Keldabe now and then during the year.

Mereel leaned on the counter while the owner tallied up his purchases, and glanced over his shoulder at Kohpa, flashing him an easy smile. “Why don’t you go bring the rest of our haul back to the speeder? I’ll be along in a bit.”

He knew his uncle would be asking the shop owner for the latest news floating about the town, and he could have been annoyed he was sending him out like a child when he was fifteen years old and plenty able to handle anything they might say. But he wasn’t overly interested in the latest gossip and the packed room was growing a bit stuffy for his tastes, so he just nodded, grabbed the other couple of bags they’d already filled with the clan’s requests, and ducked out into the bustle of the street.

Both Kohpa and Mereel had been wandering town without their helmets on, enjoying the mild temperature and the fresh air. The wind was still a bit too cold to be comfortable, but after the warm, still air inside he was grateful for it when he stepped out.

Keldabe wasn’t exactly a hub of activity, but today it was bustling like market day. Other  _ mando’ad _ were doing their shopping, visiting in the small cantina, and milling about the streets. Everyone’s mood seemed boosted by the promise of good weather, and there was a good amount of laughing from the crowds.

The snow had melted just enough to make the dirt streets muddy and slippery, and with the weight of the bags on his back it was harder to make progress without slipping and sliding. Suddenly his father’s decision to stay behind in the speeder while the two of them did the errands made sense. Not only did he avoid slipping around in the mud, something he certainly got enough of back home, but he could catch some peace and quiet.

The speeder’s windows were tinted dark, but with the bright sun shining outside Kohpa could spot his father’s  _ buy’ce _ in the passenger seat. He wasn’t surprised he hadn’t taken it off, but he  _ was _ a bit surprised to see it was resting comfortably back against the seat’s headrest.

As he got closer he tilted his head, trying to see if the man was asleep. It wasn’t something easy to see with a helmet over someone’s face, unfortunately.

Normally he would have tapped the speeder’s side a couple times as a sort of signal that it was him and not some random stranger climbing in, but this time he crept up slowly and stood for a moment watching for motion.

Ordo didn’t move, just kept his head tilted back. His breathing was slow and even.

Kohpa smiled to himself and wrenched a hand free of the bag handles. In a single smooth motion he swung the door open, using the momentum to swing himself into the driver’s seat and drop the bags in his father’s armored lap.

Ordo sat up quickly, turning to face the intrusion before resettling himself in his seat and clearing his throat. About as extreme a reaction as Kohpa was likely to get from him.

“Have a nice nap?” He asked, beaming from the driver’s seat.

The t-visor of his father’s red helmet hid any emotion or expression, but he could  _ feel _ the serious, ‘what is this nonsense’ stare he was surely directing his way. “I wasn’t sleeping.”

“Sure,” Kohpa leaned against the steering yoke, still smiling. “You were just meditating.”

“Where’s Mereel?”

“Getting all the hot gossip from Beviin.”

“Hm.”

Kohpa continued to lean on the steering yoke and glanced down at it pointedly while his dad was still staring. “So…”

“You’re not driving home.”

He slumped back in his seat hard enough to make the speeder wobble in place. “Why not? I drive all the time back home!”

Ordo turned to look out of the viewscreen. “You’re not ready.”

Frustration began to burn in Kohpa’s belly, just warm enough to make him want to hit something. He sighed, reaching out to rest his hands on the yoke. “I’m beyond ready. If I can drive all over the farm by myself I can handle this dumb thing in a straight line back home.”

Ordo didn’t answer, and it only made the fire in Kohpa’s belly burn hotter. He glared across at his father, waiting for him to turn and acknowledge him.

It baffled him that his father and Mereel could be literally identical but act so totally different. He had  _ fun _ with Mereel, and most of his other uncles too. Meanwhile his father was made of stone, always so practical and in control. It was irritating at the best of times, and completely infuriating the rest of the time.

Still not receiving any response, Kohpa grumbled under his breath and climbed between the front seats to drop himself in the back seat. Only moments afterwards, Mereel opened the driver’s side door, whistling, and sat down.

He plopped the bag of machine parts on Ordo’s lap, and stopped whistling abruptly. Then twisted in his seat to look back at Kohpa, still scowling in the back seat.

“Any news about the base?” Ordo asked before Mereel could ask what was going on.

Mereel settled back in his seat and started up the speeder. “Nothing new since we last heard from Cin’ciri. It’s been quiet, nothing unusual.”

Kohpa wasn’t surprised. The Imperial base on Mandalore had been in the same place at the same size since before he’d been born. As far as anyone could tell it was one of their farthest bases and didn’t have much activity, if any. His uncle Fi had said once it was where the Stormies got sent when they were bad, and he was willing to believe it. There certainly wasn’t much to do there, which probably explained their tendency to drink too much and wander into the town to pick fights with the  _ mando’ade _ there.

Ordo ‘hmm’ed softly at Mereel’s comment and didn’t say anything more about it.

In the silence that ensued, Kohpa leaned forward between the seats, then rested against Ordo’s to face Mereel as much as he could in that position.

“You would let me drive your speeder if I asked, right?”

Mereel’s eyes widened the barest fraction, and he stole a glance at Ordo before slowly steering them out of their parking spot and along the meandering roads of Keldabe.

“Sure, I suppose.”

“I thought so.” He turned to look back at his father, who was silently reviewing the list of supplies they were meant to pick up and comparing the items in the bags with it to ensure they’d gotten everything.

_ Typical _ . He thought bitterly, before letting himself drop back into the back seat.

There was a brief silence, and Kohpa finally shifted from staring at the back of his father’s head to watching the snow-covered scenery flash past. Suddenly a small bag flew from the front seat into his lap, startling him for a moment.

“Don’t spoil your dinner.” Ordo grunted.

Kohpa held the bag for just a second before realizing what it was. He opened the drawstring top and smiled when he recognized the irregular crystalline chunks of hard candy, the kind Mereel usually brought back after a trip to Keldabe. But he wouldn’t have had time to get it without Kohpa noticing. It had to have been his dad who bought it while they were away from the speeder.

Kohpa noticed Ordo had his head turned slightly. It was impossible to know without seeing his eyes but Kohpa was certain he was watching his son’s reaction to the gift. He was hoping it would be enough of a consolation prize for not letting him drive that he wouldn’t be angry with him the rest of the day.

The nice weather was clearly getting to Kohpa also, and he felt his frustration calming.

“Thanks, Dad.”

“ _ Ba’gedet’ye _ .”

**FORWYR, TYRINNI**

Vau weaved among the crowds, doing his best not to scowl. There were many things that irritated him in this life, and tourists were slowly but surely working their way to the top of that list.

In a colorful floral shirt and short pants, a hat and dark glasses on, the veteran mercenary was aware he passed for just your typical well-off retiree enjoying some time at a tropical resort planet. The only detail causing him to stand out was Mird, sniffing and snuffling its way through the crowds ahead and startling beings out of the way.

The strill was excited, the golden fur along its hackles bristling with energy, tail whipping side to side while it kept its nose to the ground, tracking its prey.

The tourists around them were mostly engrossed in the acrobatics show being performed on the large stage to Vau’s left. Occasionally the crowd would applaud loudly, cheering to encourage the performers in their brightly colored uniforms. He’d tried to watch some of the show earlier but the elaborate maneuvers made his back ache.

Mird stopped suddenly in the crowd, snuffling at the ground before lifting its head to smell the air. After a minute or two of sniffling about, it turned back to Vau with a petulant whimper and an expression of pure heartbreak.

Vau held out a hand and let the animal nuzzle into his hand before giving it a good scratching around the ears. It grunted happily and leaned into him.

“Aw, lost the scent have you? It’s all right, we’ll find it again soon, not to worry.”

Mird groaned and flopped onto his back, sprawling all six legs while Vau scratched at its belly. Its tail whipped about with joy, clearing a wider space around the two of them.

“Who’s a good strill? Who?”

The strill whined and squirmed happily, drool pooling on the stonework path beneath them.

Someone approached from the right, seeming hesitant. Vau took his time to acknowledge them, recognizing the deep maroon shoes of the resort staff in his peripheral vision.

“Pardon me ...sir.” The way the employee hesitated implied he didn’t agree with the honorific he was required to use.

Vau slowly stood, brushed off his hands on his shirt while clumps of golden fur drifted through the air, and turned towards the rodian man. “What’s that? Did you need something?”

Mird got to its feet the moment Vau began to stand, and stuck close to its master’s legs, watching the newcomer curiously.

“Sir, are you aware we require all...pets...to be  _ leashed _ on the premises?” The employee’s round blue eyes darted nervously to Mird once or twice. Vau would have bet a lot of creds on the idea that he’d never seen a strill in his entire lifetime. “If you wouldn’t mind complying to that regulation, I would greatly appreciate your cooperation.”

Vau nodded understandingly. “Right. Of course. Forgive me, a gift from my grandkids, I never know how to control animals like this. I’ll put its leash on right away.”

The rodian remained, watching quietly.

It was obvious the employee wouldn’t leave easily, so Vau reached into his pocket and pulled out the leash he rarely, if ever, used for Mird. The strill seemed startled when he clipped it to the collar nearly hidden beneath folds of golden fluff, but after a sniff or two of the sturdy cord it went back to watching the resort employee, tongue lolling from one side of its mouth.

“Thank you sir. Enjoy the rest of your stay with us.” The employee spun on his heels, clearly glad to be done with that task, and quickly disappeared among the crowds before Vau could bother him with some inane request.

Once the rodian was gone Vau glanced down to see Mird staring back up at him, head tilted as if to ask what was going on, and what exactly he thought he was doing putting a leash on it.

“Sorry  _ Mird’ika _ , we’ve got to follow the rules sometimes, eh?”

The strill’s tail wagged at the attention from its master, bringing a smile to his face.

The smile evaporated into the humid air when he looked up again, glancing around the large common area. It didn’t make sense for Mird to loose the scent of their target in the middle of this space, where there were no other paths or trails to follow.

Unless, of course, their target had gotten into something that was parked. The resort provided complimentary, simple landspeeders for travel around the immediate area.

“Fancy a ride,  _ Mird’ika _ ? These old legs of mine are getting tired.”

It had been almost two weeks now that Vau had been at the resort hunting this  _ chakaar _ . It shouldn’t have been this hard, especially not for him. He was experienced. He’d trained  _ commandos _ . He could find one person on a crowded destination planet.

The rentable speeders were housed at a garishly decorated open warehouse nearby, one he’d passed enough to know where it was in relation to the common area. He and Mird set off, Vau whistling to offset his frustration. After all, it wouldn’t do for someone on vacation to seem stressed.

As they walked Vau took out his datapad to check the information on his target again.

Boss had intercepted the signal for him, a transmission from the Empire’s main base to a satellite location just outside of Coruscant. It was an arrest warrant, although both Vau and Boss suspected it was intended to be sent to a bounty hunter.

_ Sorry  _ vod’ike _ , this one’s mine. _

Boss hadn’t sent a message along with the intercepted signal, and Vau had been confused at first until he read the information detailing the man’s crimes. He was accused of assisting clone deserters at the close of the Clone Wars, specifically he’d been  allegedly caught sheltering several wounded troopers when the Empire’s forces combed through an area where fighting had recently occurred.

It wasn’t the ‘assisting deserters’ part he really cared about, that was Kal’s chosen charity case, not his. What did interest him was the fact that he’d been caught with the troopers on Kashyyk. Vau’s intent was to snatch him up, find out if he’d seen a specific clone soldier with red markings on his armor, then pass whatever was left of him off to his boys to turn in to the Empire when he was done with him.

Thousands of clones had died in the war. Including plenty of the commandos Vau himself had trained. He still recited the names of his boys daily, according to Mandalorian custom. But there was one name he refused to recite. One missing clone he refused to give up on.

“Let’s go find him,  _ Mird’ika _ .  _ Oya! _ ”


End file.
